


Training Day

by BreakfastTea



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen, Mild Hurt/Comfort, When Glaives Attack!!!, magic flask head canon, quality father son time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-19 07:42:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14232534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BreakfastTea/pseuds/BreakfastTea
Summary: Regis decides to spend the day with Noctis, but things take an unexpected turn when they check in with the newest Kingsglaive recruits and a magic demonstration goes wrong. Suddenly, it's up to Noctis to protect his father from a Confused Glaive.





	Training Day

**Author's Note:**

> Request Number Eight goes out for Zem ^_^ I really hope you enjoy it, and thank you for all your support <3
> 
> Also, this story builds from one of my other fics, 'Fate', but you don't necessarily need to read that. It's just my personal take on the Dawn trailer.

“Noct. Wake up now.”

Ignis’ insistent voice dragged Noctis from sleep. He opened his eyes, blinking up at his friend. “What is it? Did something happen?” Cold panic shot across his heart. “Is Dad okay?”

“The King is fine,” Ignis said. “I spoke with him moments ago. He requests the pleasure of your company today.”

Panic subsiding, Noctis tried to catch up with the waking world. “Isn’t it a school day?”

“I’ve contacted the school and informed them you will be absent today. They were very understanding. Your father intends to spend the day and evening with you.”

Damn. There went his afterschool plans with Prompto. They were supposed to get together for their geography project. Stifling a sigh, Noctis kicked his way free of the bedcovers. “Did Dad say why he’s giving me a day off?” It wasn’t like him to just allow Noctis to skip school without a very good reason.

“I would hardly call this a day off,” Ignis said. “I have a feeling your father wishes to see you in the training halls. Dress comfortably.”

Curious, Noctis did exactly as he was told. After pulling on his gym gear, he sent an apologetic message to Prompto, explaining for his absence.

_It’s cool. I get it. Royal stuff, right? If I argue with that, will they kick me out of the city?_

Noctis knew it wasn’t cool. They had to get that geography project finished by the end of term, and if they put it off much longer, they’d both fail. Noctis didn’t need to see Prompto to know his friend would be disappointed. He apologised again via text. _Sorry. I’ll make it up to you. And don’t worry, I’ll keep all hints of your treasonous, anti-monarchist thoughts to myself._

Prompto’s message popped up seconds later. _See? That’s why you’re my best friend. You never rat me out._

Ignis called to him. “Noct, come along. We shouldn’t keep your father waiting.”

Sending a final message to Prompto ( _Never. See you tomorrow_ ), Noctis hurried out to follow Ignis down to the car.

* * *

Clarus stood at Regis’ side. “Twelve years?” he asked. “Has it really been so long?”

Regis looked to his friend. “Yes.” The memory of the day the Crystal, the Draconian, told Regis of Noctis’ fate hadn’t faded in the least. He pressed a hand against the window, his sweaty palm leaving a steam print. He swallowed down the sudden rush of emotion. “I suddenly realised I could not let today pass without seeing him. Without seeing how far he has come. Time grows too short. I fear I have neglected him too much.” He glanced at Clarus. “I honestly cannot remember the last time I saw him for longer than five minutes. And whenever I do, talking to him is like trying to get blood out of a stone.”

“Gladio tells me he’s not always sullen,” Clarus said. “In fact, beneath all the teenage angst, rumour has it Noctis still possesses a sense of humour.”

Regis smiled. “Perhaps I’ll see it today. One day with my son is all I ask. To check that he can fight, and to maybe spoil him just a little.”

“The media would have it that he is entirely too spoiled already,” Clarus said.

“Should his fate befall him, the media will discover precisely how much they will owe him their lives,” Regis snapped.

“I know,” Clarus said in soothing tones.

Regis sighed. “Forgive me. Sometimes the weight of all this sits heavily.”

“It is a burden you must share with me,” Clarus said. “The war effort hasn’t abated. There is still an opportunity for us to end this war. Don’t give up hope.”

“I haven’t. I won’t.”

“Good. Now, it’s a beautiful day. Go and spend it with Noctis. I’ll smooth over any ruffled feathers with the council.”

“You have my notes?” Regis asked.

“Of course. Take care. I don’t like to leave you unprotected.”

“I may look old and rickety, Clarus, but I can still defend myself.”

“Let’s hope you don’t have to.”

“Honestly, Clarus.” Regis shook his head at his friend’s concern. “I don’t intend to leave the Citadel. I thought perhaps we could spend some time in the gardens, and then return here for lunch. We couldn’t be safer.”

“After you’ve seen how his training’s coming along,” Clarus said. “Try not to get in his way.”

“I do have a duty to ensure he can use magic,” Regis said. “He makes incredible flasks filled with spells. I asked him to make some for the Kingsglaive and the Crownsguard for emergency use. It’s quite fascinating.” He chuckled. “It’s one way to keep him from damaging any more training halls.”

“He really is somewhat… uncontrolled,” Clarus said.

“He is without the flasks,” Regis said. “Raw magic isn’t his forte, but the flasks are beyond me and every single member of the Kingsglaive. Have you ever watched him create one?”

“No.”

“It’s fascinating. He sits there and magic that should by all rights blow the roof off flows into tiny containers. I’m not sure how he does it.”

“The important thing is he knows how he does it,” Clarus said.

By the time they reached the training rooms, Noctis had arrived. Ignis bowed to Regis and took his leave, surely headed to the same meeting Clarus would be attending. Clarus left too, leaving father and son alone. Regis took in the sight of his son, so much older and taller than he had been on that day twelve years ago when Bahamut revealed Noctis’ fate. The pain of that day hadn’t lessened any, and it shot through Regis now as he saw that his son had little growing left to do before he would be the young man Regis had watched in a vision so long ago.

Although Regis did hope Noctis would shed some of that sullenness before he had to take on the gods themselves.

He knew, however, that Noctis was unlikely to ever outgrow his father. The childhood damage to his spine had certainly ended any hopes for that.

“Hello, Noct,” Regis said.

Noctis stirred out of whatever thoughts he had. His eyes swept over Regis, as though taking note of all the changes in his father’s appearance. Whatever he saw, Regis knew Noctis didn’t like it. He could see it in the flinch he couldn’t quite cover up with his usual blankness.

“Hi, Dad,” Noctis said, voice devoid of emotion.

That was another thing Regis wished Noctis wouldn’t do; bury his emotions. He wanted his son to just be open and say whatever was on his mind, the way he did all those years ago.

But Noctis had taken to hiding his feelings long, long ago.

“Forgive me for taking you out of school today,” Regis said.

Noctis shrugged. “It’s fine.”

“I wanted to check in on you and your training. Then, perhaps, we could take a walk through the lower gardens.”

Noctis blinked. “Really?”

“Really,” Regis said. “I’ve taken a day’s leave. I think the council will manage, don’t you?”

The faintest flicker of a smile touched Noctis’ lips. “Ignis will be there, right? They’ll be fine.”

“Alright then.” Regis produced a flask from his Armiger. “The Kingsglaive asked if perhaps you’d be willing to supply some additional spells for training purposes.”

Noctis nodded. “Yeah, of course.”

“Gladio informs me your endurance has vastly improved lately. Said you’re lasting longer before hitting Stasis.”

“It’s getting easier,” Noctis said.

“Good. Because once you’re done with the flasks, you’re going to have to demonstrate them to our latest recruits,” Regis said. “You’ll want to create enough to show them what to do, and enough for them to carry into battle.”

“Okay,” Noctis said. He reached into his own Armiger and seconds later a vast collection of flasks hit the ground with a musical tinkling. He sat down and began working. “I discovered something else lately,” he said.

Amazed that his usually untalkative son was initiating conversation, Regis pressed for more information. “So long as you don’t tell me you’re experimenting on yourself again, I think I’m keen to hear more.”

Noctis took it in his stride with a soft sigh and carried on. “I can create healing magic in energy drinks.”

“Really?” Regis asked. “Fascinating! How did you discover that?”

Noctis shrugged again. Regis really needed him to get out of that habit. It was most unbecoming. “Just trying stuff out. It worked. I’ll make some for the Glaives.” He looked up at Regis. “I’ll do anything I can to help.”

“Excellent,” Regis said.

* * *

An hour later, Noctis sat surrounded by the magic flasks and potions he’d created. He wiped the sweat from his brow. He’d maybe pushed it a little too hard, but he wanted to make his dad proud. He stood up, locked his knees, and stored his creations in the Armiger.

“Good work,” Regis said. “Let’s see what the Glaives make of it.”

Noctis followed his dad to the Kingsglaive’s training area. A small group waited for them. They had the shiny-eyed, ecstatic looks of new recruits who hadn’t yet been ground down by the war effort. Noctis hoped they’d all survive. Despite the rumours in the press about his disinterest, he was acutely aware of what the Kingsglaive sacrificed for the sake of Lucis. He may not have had the rigid upbringing people expected of royalty, but there were some duties, such as visiting with injured Glaives or their families, that he did not shirk. He just made a point of not boasting about it to the press.

Noctis hoped he would never have to see any of these new recruits injured or killed.

He endured the usual bowing and respectful use of his title. If Dad wasn’t there, he’d probably insist they call him by his first name. Instead, he shared out his flasks and allowed them to try them out. There were the usual whoops and cheers of delight as his magic did what it was supposed to do; burning, freezing and electrocuting targets. Some of the flasks had extra twists, like the one he’d added a Stop spell to, or the one that cast itself in triplicate.

“That’s new,” Regis said.

“I’ve been experimenting,” Noctis said.

“How do you keep track of what you’ve created?”

“I just know.” Noctis could sense his magic in everything he made.

Regis leaned closer. “None of these have any, ah, nastier side-effects, do they?”

“No,” Noctis said. “I’ve kept those to myself.”

“Good.”

Noctis rolled his eyes. He’d never be allowed to live down the _one time_ he’d accidentally let a Poison spell take out almost everyone around him. One time!

Once everyone understood the flasks, Regis asked the Glaives to show off their own spellcraft. Some wielded the elements with ease, but one man, thin and pale, with eyes so grey they were almost white, had a knack for status change magic. He sent one of his comrades to sleep and shrank a nearby selection of weapons.

“It’s been a while since I saw someone wield this magic as well as you do,” Regis said.

The new Glaive bowed, his whole body slick with sweat. “Th-thank you, Your Majesty,” he squeaked.

Another Glaive, this one bulky where the other was skinny, came over and slapped his shoulder. “Ludo here can even use Confuse! Should’ve seen him in training up at the grounds by the city’s northern wall. Had them all at each other’s throats.”

Regis nodded. “A handy spell to have when you need to retreat and keep the enemy at bay.”

Ludo nodded. “I thought so too, Your Majesty.”

The dozing Glaive awoke with a loud snort. She blushed brightly, apologised, and hurried to join her comrades standing behind Ludo.

“He can show you,” the second Glaive said, cocky now. He patted the guy again, and Noctis thought it wasn’t such a friendly gesture after all. It looked like something a bully would do. “Go on, Ludo. Show ‘em.”

Ludo shot his comrade a look. “No, Bertram.”

“It’s quite alright,” Regis said.

Noctis watched the other Glaives, noticing a few rolling their eyes. They were clearly used to Bertram’s outbursts.

“Honestly, Your Majesty, it’s crazy to see,” Bertram said.

“That I can believe. But perhaps – ”

“It’s incredible. Ludo should really show you.” Bertram carried on, talking over Regis. Noctis couldn’t believe it. He’d never heard a Glaive interrupt his dad. He didn’t think he’d ever heard anyone interrupt Dad, except maybe Clarus… and himself, when he was particularly frustrated with whatever his dad’s latest excuse for cancelling dinner was.

Regis held up his hands. “I assure you, there’s no need to demonstrate everything. I’m certain you’re telling the truth, and I know that when you join the frontlines, your varying aptitudes will serve this country well.”

“Yeah, well, some of us just use sneaker kinds of magic than others,” Bertram said, sly eyes sliding over to Ludo.

Noctis felt it in the seconds before it happened. Ludo bunched his fists. Magic whispered. Noctis opened his mouth to tell Ludo to stop, to do nothing, but he was too slow. Ludo’s left hand snapped out, grabbed Bertram’s head, and pummelled a Confuse spell directly into his brain.

Bertram lashed out with a roar, a dagger appearing in his hand. Ludo dodged, warping to a safe distance. The other Glaives moved to defend King and Prince, but their comrade was too strong. He cut them down, blood spurting through the air.

Ludo let out a battle cry, a dagger appearing in his hand. He swung at Bertram, only for Bertram to take him out with a Thunder spell. Ludo dropped, twitching uncontrollably as thousands of volts shrieked through his body.

Bertram warped, his movements drunken and wild. He crashed into a wall, only to warp again. This time, it brought him up directly in front of Regis. A shield appeared, closing him off. Bertram battered it, roaring incoherently.

Noctis didn’t think. He reacted in an instant, pulling his own sword out of the Armiger. He warped, putting himself in-between his father’s shield and Bertram.

“Noct!” Regis gasped. “Get out of here!”

“No.” Noctis summoned several potions, allowing them to fall to the ground. “I’ll keep him distracted. Use those on the others.”

And with that, Noctis pushed Bertram back, his blade aimed at less lethal spots like the legs. If he could disable Bertram, Noctis could heal him once the Confusion magic wore off. Unfortunately, Bertram fought back with a raw, intense power. He swung his sword at Noctis, grunting with the effort. Noctis blocked and parried, his shoulders aching with the weight the man put behind every blow. Noctis needed to disarm Bertram, stop him, not kill him. Noctis dodged around him. Bertram swung around, teetering but somehow keeping himself upright. A vicious grin ripped across his face.

“Cheeky little fucker,” Betram hissed. “Cheeky, cheeky, cheeky.” He giggled. “You can’t escape me. I’ll kill every last one of you!”

“You need to stop,” Noctis said, his voice firm and strong. “You’re Confused. You’re attacking your comrades and your King!”

“Lies!” Bertram swung his dagger.

Noctis caught the blow. He wanted to tell the guy it was his own fault, that he shouldn’t have goaded his friend like he had. Instead, he parried another blow. This time Bertram did lose his balance, crashing to the ground.

Noctis caught sight of Regis moving to help the other Glaives. But then Bertram returned. Noctis cursed his stupidity; he shouldn’t have been distracted. He didn’t get his blade up fast enough, and Bertram’s dagger sliced through Noctis’ hoodie, scoring a deep gash on his chest. Noctis stumbled back, hot blood washing down his torso.

Bertram pressed his advantage with a spell, magic wrapping around his hands.

Fire. He was going to burn Noctis.

Unable to cast a shield the way his father could, Noctis thought fast and wrenched another flask out of the Armiger. The Blizzard spell had a broken clock blended into it, and the magic stopped his opponent before he could cast his flames.

With his opponent temporarily disabled, Noctis ran to Regis and the Glaives. “Are you alright?” he asked them.

“Noct, you’re bleeding,” Regis said.

“I’m fine,” Noctis said. And he was certain that he was. He couldn’t feel anything. He looked at the Glaives, their wounds healed thanks to his potions. “Take my father and get out of here,” he ordered them.

“Noct –”

There was no more time to argue. Noctis felt his Stop spell end, the magic cutting off like a popped balloon. He turned around in time to see Bertram casting another Fire spell. The other Glaives protected them all with shields. Safe for the moment, Noctis mentally reviewed his stock of flasks. Esuna, he thought, watching Bertram unleash spell after spell. Why hadn’t he created magic that could also cast Esuna?

Another possibility occurred to Noctis. He could poison Bertram. That way, he’d be too sick to fight.

Noctis pushed his way through the shields. Everyone shouted at him to stop. He ignored them. He could do this. He pulled a poisoned Fire spell out of the Armiger.

“Sorry,” he told Bertram. “But it’s for the best.”

He launched the flask. It hit the ground a few metres away from Bertram. Fire ripped across the training ground, but worse was the putrid miasma that tinged the flames. Bertram coughed and gagged, waving an arm in a desperate attempt to clear the air. He didn’t stand a chance, and within seconds he was completely overcome. He fell to his knees, coughing, gagging and vomiting.

Knowing he needed to dispel the Poison, Noctis held out a hand and used a raw Blizzard spell to quell the flames. He caught a whiff of the Poison, his stomach clenching. He wretched, but nothing came up. Moments later, the ice did its job and finished off the flames. The poison died out, too.

The Glaives ran over to their comrade, pinning him down even though Bertram was now too miserably sick to do anything. Ludo said something about fetching a medic and dashed off.

Noctis bent double, his stomach clenching again. Again, he wasn’t sick, but the pain of the deep gouge across his chest finally kicked in.

A hand clasped his shoulder. “Here,” Regis said, holding out one of Noctis’ potions. This one had been added to Gladio’s favourite energy drink. “I think you need this.”

Noctis took it and crushed it, the healing magic washing over him in a soft green mist. The pain ebbed, the gash across his chest healing instantly. “Thanks,” he said.

Regis smiled. “Thank you, Noct,” he said. “That was some very quick thinking.”

“You’re welcome.” Noctis’ blanched, his stomach lurching. “Dad –” He vomited the rest of the sentence onto his dad’s shoes.

Regis pulled an antidote out of his Armiger. “Take that,” he said. “I’d best go and see to our Glaive.”

“But your shoes –”

“I’ll worry about them later. Don’t worry, Noct. Just take that antidote.”

Regis moved away. Noctis took the antidote. As it cleared the poison from his body, the door to the training hall slammed open. Clarus and Gladio stormed in, both looking ready for a fight. Instead, they found Noctis sitting off to the side and Regis tending to a batch of trainee Glaives.

Regis turned to his Shield with a smile. “Don’t fret,” he said. “I can explain everything.”

* * *

An hour later, Noctis, his bloodied hoodie replaced with a Kingsglaive’s training shirt, sat with his dad in one of the Citadel’s private gardens, enjoying a light lunch. They’d left the Glaives in Clarus’ capable hands. Noctis felt a stirring of pity, knowing Clarus would deliver swift punishments Ludo and Bertram.

And that was before Drautos got his hands on them. After that, they’d probably wish they’d never applied to join the Kingsglaive.

“Something on your mind, Noct?” Regis asked.

Noctis shook his head. “No, I’m fine.”

Regis nodded. “I was very impressed with you today. You handled yourself well, and stopped a bad situation from getting any worse.”

“Thanks,” Noctis said. “I’m glad everyone’s alright.”

“I imagine their ears are ringing, but let that be a lesson to them,” Regis said. “Magic is nothing to be toyed with.”

“Right.” Noctis reached for the teapot. He poured two fresh cups.

“Those flasks of yours proved their worth again today,” Regis said. “You should be proud.”

Feeling his cheeks heating up, Noctis tried to hide it behind his teacup. “Still a few things to try out though,” he said. “Like adding Esuna or Poisona.”

Regis smiled. “Perhaps my wayward Glaives aren’t the only ones who learned a thing or two today.”

“I would’ve thought of it eventually,” Noctis said.

“Indeed. And I’m glad one of your Poison spells finally came in handy.”

“See? They’re not all bad.”

“Yes, although perhaps next time you should take a few more steps back.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Noctis muttered. He sipped his tea. “Could’ve been worse. Could’ve poisoned all of us.”

“Oh, no, not me.”

“What makes you so special?” Noctis asked.

“Age. Wisdom. Some combination of the two.”

“That, or the crown protects you from all Status changes,” Noctis said.

Regis smiled. “Ah, if only.” His hand briefly floated to touch the crown before dropping down. “No, something far different.”

“What?”

Regis slid his left hand into his right sleeve and undid something. He slipped it out. In his hand sat a pure black Ribbon. “A gift from your mother,” Regis said. “Long, long ago.” He smiled at some private memory Noctis could only guess at. “I think she took pity on me after I accidentally Confused myself.”

Noctis almost spat tea everywhere. He swallowed, scalding his throat. “You did what?”

“I thought you’d get a kick out of that,” Regis said. “Confusion is a delicate spell. In some, it creates what you saw today. In others, such as myself, it’s more of a… drunken reaction.”

“Drunken?” Noctis pictured his father staggering around, making a fool of himself. “Are you saying Mother took pity on you?”

“It was hardly becoming,” Regis said. “Me, staggering around whenever a Confusion spell backfired on me.”

“Backfired?”

“As I told our friend Ludo, that kind of magic takes a certain person. A certain kind of talent. It’s not really my forte. So your darling mother gave me the Ribbon.” Regis tied it back in place. “And I’ve never been without it.”

“I need one of those,” Noctis said.

“And should anyone ever come across another one, I shall ensure you have it,” Regis said. “But for now, you’ll have to make do with other protective amulets.”

Noctis stared down into his tea.

Regis stared at him. “You do use those, don’t you?”

Noctis reached for a sandwich.

“Noct?”

He stuffed the sandwich in his mouth.

Regis sighed. “What am I to do with you?”

Noctis swallowed his mouthful. “I will from now on.”

“To think, if you had, that first Poison incident would’ve completely passed you by,” Regis said, eyes twinkling.

Noctis chose to throw a sandwich at his father instead.

Regis’ rich laughter filled the garden. Moments later, Noctis joined in too.

All things considered, it was a great day. When it came to an end and Noctis had to return to his apartment, he felt a twang of regret. He wished he knew a spell powerful enough to stop time until he was good and ready for it to move on again. Instead of asking his dad for one more day, and denying the part of him that wanted to spend the night at the Citadel, Noctis said his goodbyes and left with Ignis.

“You had a good day?” Ignis asked.

“Yeah,” Noctis said.

“You’re wearing a different shirt,” Ignis said.

“You mean you didn’t hear about what happened?”

“I caught wind of some kind of disruption in the Kingsglaive’s training area, but nothing else. I take it you were involved.”

“You don’t need to sound like I caused it,” Noctis muttered.

* * *

Regis watched Noctis leaving with Ignis, Clarus at his side. “The Glaives?” he asked.

“Penitent,” Clarus said. “In the extreme. And set to spend several long, dull weeks on border patrol.”

“Good,” Regis said. He looked to his friend. “Noctis is coming along well. One way or another, he’ll be ready.”

Clarus nodded. “Although perhaps the way he showed it wasn’t quite what we had in mind.”

“True, but I think it goes to show how he can handle the unexpected.” Regis saw Ignis lead Noctis into an elevator. They disappeared from sight. “He might not always show it, but he has the makings of a great king.” Regis’ heart trembled in his chest. “The greatest of us all, perhaps.” He reached up to wipe his eyes.

“He’s going to make you proud,” Clarus said.

“He already is.”

“When he’s not driving you mad,” Clarus said.

Regis laughed despite himself. “It’s all that shrugging he does.” He imitated his son’s favourite pose. “We’re going to have to get him out of that habit.”

“He’s seventeen. Good luck,” Clarus said.

Turning away, Regis headed for his own chambers. “Thank you for your sympathy.”

“Anytime.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> See you all next week! ^_^


End file.
